


Loki: Bodies and Soul

by TerresDeBrume



Series: SEADLA Verse [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Intersex!Loki, M/M, Masturbation, SEADLA Verse, Self-Discovery, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Coercion, Shapeshifting, self-hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is: Loki is a shapeshifter.<br/>That means several bodies for only one soul, but that's the easy part.</p><p>The hard part is finding one you feel comfortable with.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Or: Loki and his body as viewed through four big steps of his sexual life.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A little more than a boy

**Author's Note:**

> Story Betaed by [Vicky](http://after-all-this-time-severus.tumblr.com). Thanks a lot for the correction <3
> 
>  
> 
> **The warnings are here for a reason, and a lot of them apply to chapter two of the fic. If you feel unsure about what they mean/imply exactly, don't hesitate to ask for clarifications here or on my[Tumblr](http://terresdebrumestories.tumblr.com/ask)!**
> 
>  
> 
> Likewise, if you think this story is missing a tag, please tell me so. I used all those I could think of but if it's not enough, I'd rather know it so I can correct the situation, thanks.
> 
> Lastly, though this fic is a prequel of sorts to SEADLA, it is not necessary to have read it to enjoy _Loki: Bodies and Soul_

It feels like a knife is stabbing repeatedly through his gut every time he moves, laughs, or even breathes. It's like a fist, closing over his insides and twisting until all he can think about is the painful discomfort of it, unable to distract himself even with the most fascinating books.  
Loki wishes he could just leave the table and go lie down in his chambers with the curtains drawn and with only silence for company. His chest hurts, his back hurts, his head hurts, and no matter how much he wipes at his legs, Loki can't get rid of the feeling of wetness running down his thighs, warm and thicker than sweat.  
  
"Loki," Frigga asks, brow furrowed in concern, "are you unwell? You look pale and you barely touched your meal."  
"I am not very hungry mother," the boy says, "May I take my leave?"  
"But we're having cake for dessert!" Thor protests just as Frigga allows Loki to leave.  
  
Loki throws a disgusted glance at his brother with his sauce-covered cheeks, then leaves the table and goes to his room. He disrobes with a sigh of relief, glad to be let out of a meal he couldn't have enjoyed.  
He knows quite well what Thor's friends would say: Sickly Loki, poor mommy's boy with his frail body and his wavering health. He used to be just as healthy as the other boys until a few decades ago when he started experiencing terrible cramps and mood-swings that left him tired and irritated nearly every month, sometimes for weeks at a time. It's uncomfortable and painful and ridiculous, and he's had enough of hearing boys compare him to a fragile flower or something... Loki isn't a girl!  
One look between his legs will prove that... Right?  
  
Loki sighs with contentment as the silk of his bed sheets brushes his skin, causing his over-sensitive penis to twitch with interest. He doesn't know how or why, but Loki noticed lately that each time his illness returns, his body always feels particularly receptive to pleasure, as if the nerves of his skin were multiplied, his senses heightened to the point where they are just short of overwhelming... And Loki doesn't feel any remorse in exploiting this peculiarity -finally, one thing he has that others might envy him for if they knew about it.  
  
He shifts under the cover, enjoying the brush of silk against his nipples and the way they perk up at the coolness of it. Slowly, almost teasingly, he caresses his sides, his thighs, feeling his cock harden with every stroke until he reaches down to seize it, brushing the head against his sheet.  
Loki breathes deeply through his nose and spreads his legs, one hand teasing at his nipple while the other strokes his cock at a lazy pace, occasionally brushing against his balls.  
Heat spreads through his loins and into his thighs, and Loki spreads his legs further to allow his hand more access as he quickens the rhythm of his wrist. He bites down on a moan, pushing against the mattress to give himself more leverage, and reaches down with his free hand to massage his balls. The skin of his scrotum, just behind his balls, has always been more sensitive than any other part of his body, including the head of his cock, and when he pushes against it Loki feels pleasure shoot right through him, making him gasp, closing his eyes to pretend he can push his finger inside him there.  
Sometimes he wishes the skin between his legs were open so he could truly finger himself to completion, enjoy the sensation of fingers inside him, perhaps something bigger if he could devise a way.  
  
And Loki comes to the crazy idea of a cock tucked in the flesh between his legs and falls back onto the mattress, skin burning with pleasure and hair damp with sweat.  
He turns onto his belly, exchanges his pillow for a fresh one, and falls asleep without even bothering to clean himself.


	2. Like a crab with a broken shell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic and willpower aren't of much use when you forget you have them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks to [Vicky](http://after-all-this-time-severus.tumblr.com/) for betaing the fic <3
> 
> Secondly, this is the chapter that contains the conjugal rape and emotional abuse, please proceed with caution!

“It’s a mystery, Your Graces. All the texts agree that a shapeshifter can only become with child if she was already a female before her transformation. It should have been impossible for Svadilfari to impregnate Prince Loki.”  
“Yet impregnate him he did,” Frigga says, voice stern. “Are there many books on the subject?”  
“No, Your Grace,” the instructor says, voice trembling. Loki deduces that she is wringing her hands from the movement of her elbows. “I only know of two stored in the libraries of the realm. Very few witches wield the power to change their skin, even fewer wizards do, and those who are naturally born with the skill are rarer still.”  
  
Hidden inside the walls, in the dark passageways servants use to attend to the guests during the feasts, Loki stands very still, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh of his belly, where the scar left from Sleipnir’s birthing still stings whenever he moves too fast.  
Lady Loki they call him, little ergi boy with his big fat belly, leaving behind him a trail of whispers and queer looks, as if he ever asked to be with child. Still, Loki worries mainly about his son’s welfare... how is he supposed to provide for the boy -for he is a boy, be it with eight legs and a muzzle- if he is incapable of protecting himself?  
Loki wishes he could go to his parents for help, but he dares not. Frigga is uncomfortable around the topic of her grandson, despite her efforts to be supportive, and Odin... Loki has no idea what Odin thinks, for the king refused to express any of his thoughts on the matter.  
  
“You will not discuss any of this with my son,” he says now, “nor anyone else, or you shall face terrible consequences.” The instructor nods with a frightened tremble, crooked back bending even more under the All-Father’s stare. “I, Odin All-Father, hereby declare that Sleipnir is to become my royal steed and be treated with all the care that position deserves. No one will speak of his parentage, nor use the word ergi ever again.”  
  
Beside her husband, Frigga frowns and opens her mouth to protest, but Odin raises his voice and the boom of it drowns any protest the queen could have made:  
  
“The King of All has spoken! Let my word be law.”  
  
The old witch gasps, but nods and bends a little more in a grotesque salute, and Loki feels a thin trickle of blood drip from the scar in his belly, the pain of it mingling with the taste of salt on his lips. He turns and runs toward his bedchambers, the life-long aftertaste of bitterness in his mouth turning to metallic hatred for the first of many, many a time.  


**{ooo}**

  
Loki sobs loudly, like a child, salt and snot spilling on his lips and into his mouth as he wipes the worst of it with the sleeves of his dress. Oh, how he loathes the taste! It feels to him like he tasted naught but this ever since he left Asgard. He had hoped to grow strong, to learn the magic of women, as he thought was his nature, and then he would have gone back to Asgard for his son... but he learned to cry instead.  
What a fool he was to think the problem rested in Asgard! What a simpleton. He ought to have known it was not so, he ought to have known better than to try and yet... his teacher had told Odin that only those who were female in the first place could grow with child while transformed, and Loki thought, stupidly, that maybe that was the solution. Maybe if he could give himself teats and a cunt, things would go better.  
Only now, all he has is a ragged dress, drenched cheeks, and an empty house, without even a husband to protect him. He wonders what he did to deserve so dire a fate.  
  
The door opens in front of him, and Loki squints in the sudden light, Svartalfheim’s afternoon barely warming the outermost layers of his skin like the ghost of a lover’s kiss. Loki’s heart leaps in his throat, and his stomach tightens with the violence of a contraction -and he would know, wouldn’t he?  
Angrboda is tall and proud, standing straight in the solid boots and boiled leather he wears, his gaze speculating as it falls to Loki and the the messy state of his face and hair.  
  
“Were you crying?” Angrboda asks, and Loki nods, sick with nerves.  
“I thought you were gone,” he admits. “I thought you’d left me.”  
“Of course not,” Angrboda answers, but it isn’t enough to loosen the knot inside Loki -if anything, it feels like it’s tightening. “I would never do that. You would be lost without me “-Loki nods, a sob escaping from his lips- “and your teats are much too beautiful to leave.”  
  
Sometimes, Loki remembers how the men of the court would speak of women, and how he always resented hearing them reduce the baseborn wenches to their teats and face. He used to think there was more to a woman or a girl than that, even a whore -but then, what does he know? He was a child, nothing more.  
Angrboda’s hand has slipped inside Loki’s dress, and the calluses of his palm scratch at Loki’s nipple, feeling like shards of wood as his husband palms him roughly, hungrily, like a cat playing with its prey.  
  
“I don’t want to hear any of this nonsense about coupling as a man though,” Angrboda says, one hand unlacing the front of Loki’s dress while the other pulls the hem of it up his thigh until it reaches his cunt, dry and cold in the autumn chill. “A real man fucks only cunts, and that’s all there is to it.”  
“I could have both,” Loki says without thinking, his closed thighs preventing his husband from advancing his hand further. Angrboda frowns at that, fingers pressing against Loki’s sex so hard it becomes painful, and Loki gasps.  
“Both?” Angrboda says, a warning note in his voice -his free hand is unlacing his breeches now, and Loki can see that he is hard already. “Like a Frost Giant?”  
“Frost Giants don’t have-”  
“Of course they do!” Angrboda says with a sneer as he frees his cock, and it stands between him and Loki, angry red and almost menacing. Loki wishes he could ask his husband to cover himself again -but then, why should he? It is not Angrboda’s fault Loki’s female body has such trouble feeling pleasure.  
“Frost Giants have a cock as well as a cunt, is that what you want? To have me fuck a Frost Giant?” Angrboda sounds angrier now, and Loki has to tense all the muscles in his body so he doesn’t jump as he promises:  
“No! No, no, no, I swear I don’t! I didn’t know!”  
“That’s your problem,” Angrboda says, pushing Loki back on the bed and climbing over him, “You know nothing. But we’ll correct that, don’t worry.”  
  
His hands have started touching Loki again, roaming up his legs, his thighs, his breasts. They’re rough and too strong, almost brutal, but Loki knows it is his fault for angering his husband -he should have known better... having both sexes -ha! How much of a fool does he have to be? With ideas like that, no wonder his second child was a serpent.  
Angrboda lifts Loki’s skirts up to his waist and pulls on the lapels of his dress, exposing his sex and breasts to the cold air of their room -the only room in their house, really- then puts his nose between Loki’s legs and inhales deeply, nuzzling at Loki’s thighs to spread them apart.  
  
“What are you doing?” he asks with a frown, “Is that the kind of welcome you give to your husband? Are you not happy I came back?”  
“I am,” Loki says, spreading his legs with tears pushing at the back of his throat, “I am. I’m sorry. I am very happy.”  
  
Angrboda grunts his approbation and spit-slicks himself before he bends to kiss Loki’s breasts and enters him in one painful thrust.  
Loki covers his face with his hand and bites his lips, willing his magic to give him a beautiful child this time -not a son, not even a big one, just a beautiful child, one who would take after them both.  
  
  
When the child comes, she is both pink and blue, and Loki will not realize the irony of it until many centuries later, when he realizes that both he and Angrboda had mixed parentage.  
  
The next time Angrboda comes home and demands a warm welcome after that, Loki wishes for a fierce son, who will want nothing to do with Angrboda, a child who would help him escape.  
He is not as surprised or disappointed as he should be when Fenrir’s claws tear his way out of Loki’s womb, and the first thing his son does is tear his father to shreds.  
  
( _Would that he’d suffered as much as I did,_ Loki thinks as the blood Fenrir spilled pools about him, and his last thought before he falls unconscious serves to hope Hela will find it in herself to be as cruel as she is beautiful.)


	3. Man or woman makes no matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you get things that are way better than what you expected. In times like this, you try not to be picky.

“How are you going to bed her though?” One of the women -he doesn’t know which- quips in Loki’s direction, “We can hardly see any prick there!”  
“It’s the sight of you that made it so small, crone!” Loki replies, and he hears Sigyn laugh further up the corridor.  
“Keep your hands to yourself,” she laughs at some point, “I am to be unspoiled when I come to my lord husband!”  
“Why fair lady,” Fandral’s voice says, “I couldn’t agree more, and I can only hope he’ll remember to be a husband rather than a wife!”  
  
The words are like a bucket of ice thrown in Loki’s face, and he freezes in the hands of his mother’s courtiers, their giggles like hundreds of needles piercing even his skin, thickened by years of jabs and malevolent words. He allows them to deposit him in the bedroom, naked as a babe, and suddenly even the prospect of being finally married to the woman he loves can’t calm him... what if she took Fandral seriously? What if she’s waiting to see what choice he’ll make?  
  
Loki feels ridiculous for his self-consciousness, but he doesn’t cry, as all his tears were spent during Fenrir’s birth and his son’s subsequent farce of a trial. His face is boiling, but his heart clenches with cold and his stomach feels leaden as he slides his hands in front of his desperately limp manhood, hiding the coarse red hair there to try and make the scars fade into the background of his skin.  
They don’t hurt anymore, but they are still there, even after months of drinking the juice of Idunn’s apples in larger quantities than usual -they will never go. He will forever bear the mark of Fenrir’s teeth and claws, and the spell he cast on his son will forever be imprinted in the flesh of his thighs, pale strips of shining skin framing his sex until the end of his days. He managed not to think about it these past months, having truly believed no one would ever see them again -he has insisted on bathing alone since he came back- but now he can’t help but worry about them.  
What will Sigyn think of him?  
  
“My lord,” she is saying, standing naked in the moonlight of his -of their chambers, “Are you alright?’  
  
She sounds playful even as she says it, but Loki doesn’t hear much past ‘my lord’ and the wall of courtesy they’d taken down a long time ago. He can feel the scar of Sleipnir’s birthing scar itch low on his belly, remembers how the healer had to use his own throwing daggers to free the foal from his womb, remembers--the warm feeling of fingers over his drag Loki out of his thoughts and he looks into Sigyn’s eyes, filled with all the love Asgard never had for him, and none of the distrust and content they gave him.  
  
“Loki,” Sigyn says with a reassuring smile, “you need not be so worried. I take Fandral’s words exactly for what they are: a cruel and undeserved jab. There was never any chance that he might have swayed my decision to wed you.”  
“There is truth in that, though,” Loki says, voice barely above a whisper. “You know I can....”  
“Of course I do,” Sigyn cuts him off with a peck to his lips, “You were a woman when we first met, have you forgotten that?”  
"No," Loki protests, "of course not, I merely want you to know that you don't have to--"  
"I know," Sigyn interrupts. She kisses him again, her lips soft and tender against his, then looks him in the eye and says: "But I want to."  
  
Loki's hands literally fall to his sides as she says it, surprise cutting all the strength from his arms. Did he hear correctly? Surely she can't mean what he just heard, it would be ludicrous... Wouldn't it? Unless perhaps....  
  
"Do you prefer women then?" he asks, breath catching in his throat and stomach coiling with something he doesn't want to remember.  
"Some nights," Sigyn nods, "Other nights I prefer men. I want you every night though. Man or woman makes no matter."  
  
He knew about the man part already.  
He knew because on the first night they shared a bed after stealing from their bed chambers, they spent half the night telling each other what they would do on their wedding night in tasteful but unashamed details. Loki knows of Sigyn's fascination for his hair and her desire to have him inside her, and he knows how she wants him to kiss her breasts until she comes just from that.  
They never discussed the fact that he can turn into a woman if he so desires, which is why Sigyn's proclamation nearly leaves him speechless, until he manages to mouth 'do you?' And Sigyn's smile broadens, curling with a playful, seductive edge.  
  
"Shall I show you?"  
  
She tilts her head with a pointed look, inciting him to change -and for a heartbeat he hesitates. What if things go horribly wrong again? But then, Sigyn is not Angrboda, and although Loki is more than capable of overthrowing her, it is the love and trust he feels for her that make him reach for his magic.  
He starts with his hair first, turning it black and straight until it flows over his chest and down to his waist, brushing against small breasts, still faintly scarred where a training axe cut him yesterday morning -that one will be gone within the hour, but the same can't be said of his other scars. Soon, black hair replaces the mess of copper around his cock, and his sex changes to a cunt under Sigyn's gaze.  
He sees no more use in hiding the scars.  
  
"You are beautiful," Sigyn says as she traces Loki's shoulders with light fingertips, brushes a thumb over the toned shape of his abs. "And handsome too," she adds.  
  
Loki's body is still taut with nerves, and he curses himself for his maiden-like behavior when he is now twice wedded and four times a father, but foolish as it is he can't shake the sentiment.  
Sigyn seems to sense that, for she keeps her hands to herself when she kisses him on the lips, soft as a feather and entirely unobtrusive. When Loki doesn't tense under her, Sigyn licks his lips in an unspoken demand to open his mouth, which he finds surprisingly easy to do.  
Once their tongues meet, Loki's blood heats and he sighs into the kiss, pushing his tongue into Sigyn's mouth to relish the taste of her. Only then does she truly touch him, hands coming up to stroke his face and shoulders, rounder and softer than usual. Loki takes a shuddering breath and puts his hands on Sigyn's waist, moving them up as their kiss deepens and his arousal builds up.  
He moves to caress her breasts, just as smooth as he pictured them save for the two beauty spots on her right nipple, which he sort of wants to kiss now he's noticed them. Meanwhile, Sigyn's hands have moved from Loki's shoulders too, one of them playing with the hair at the back of his skull while the other palms Loki's right breast with careful but thorough attention.  
  
"Do you want me to stop?" Sigyn asks after a while.  
  
Her breath is short and ragged, her voice rougher than usual, and Loki feels a surge of wetness between his thighs, shakes his head to protest against the idea and manages to mutter seething words that sound like 'never', because what his wife is doing is too good to let go of.  
Sigyn bends down to kiss Loki's nipple, her mouth so warm and tender that Loki can't help but whimper. His own hands are still trying to reach Sigyn's breasts despite the awkward angle, but the idea flies out the window very quickly when Sigyn pinches Loki's left nipple between her lips.  
Her mouth traces a searing trail of kisses and small licks on Loki's body even as Sigyn's right hand abandon his hair to caress his thigh, warm and slow, teasing at the flesh of his buttocks without actually going there. Loki buries his hands in Sigyn's hair, relishing the cool silk of them under his fingers, the cold and smooth support of the door behind his back, the small sounds of suction Sigyn makes as she laves his nipples in her mouth, pressing at them with the point of her tongue before she pinches them just shy of painful.  
Loki gasps when Sigyn moves from his breasts to his belly, mouth burning against his skin and branding their marriage into him as surely as a spell. He lets his bride mouth at the long line left from Sleipnir's birthing while her hands trace the paler, fresher scars about his thighs and tease him with not-quite-there brushes toward his eager, soaking-wet sex.  
  
Loki's is just about ready for Sigyn to put her finger into him, and he's about to ask for it when she blows on his clitoris with a cool, cool breath and then kisses him there.  
  
"Oh by the tree," Loki moans, and his voice almost sounds surprised even when his cunt opens wide for Sigyn's tongue.  
  
Loki didn’t even realize how aroused he truly was, not until now as Sigyn's tongue licks the moisture off his clit, making him bite his lips to restrain a moan. He shudders, legs buckling under him when Sigyn finally pushes her tongue inside him... She catches him by the waist with one hand and uses the other to hook his leg over her shoulder.  
The new position stretches Loki open wider, and he moans as Sigyn finds an especially pleasurable spot to lick and tease. He presses his back harder against the wooden door, thumping his head to prevent himself from crying out in pleasure, eyes screwed shut and mouth open on a moan he doesn’t want to release.  
  
Then Sigyn’s fingers join her tongue and Loki’s body spasms, grows taut with his climax as a strangled sound escapes his lips and he slumps forward, more spent than he ever was before. Slowly, carefully, Sigyn guides him to the floor and they sit together against the door, Loki’s breathing still ragged as his wife strokes him back to calm.  
Her lips glisten with Loki’s fluids as she smiles, and the sight sends a rush of joy through his chest, something deep unlocking in the pit of his belly so suddenly it brings tears to his eyes... Loki doesn’t try to restrain them.  
  
“I had no idea a woman’s body could feel this--” he doesn’t know what word to use next.  
  
Alive? Loved? Pleasurable? Good? Loki Silvertongue is left speechless and that, perhaps, is the most frightening yet positive things he experienced so far. Sigyn smiles and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand before she says:  
  
“That’s because you never had someone who wanted to make you feel this. I promise that you can have as much fun as a woman as you can as a man.”  
  
Loki feels so ridiculously happy about this perspective that he isn’t even bothered by the phantom sensation of his cock still begging for attention.  
  
For love, he’s willing to compromise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and reviews are always appreciated, both here or, if you'd like to remain anonymous, [on Tumblr](http://terresdebrumestories.tumblr.com/ask) <3


	4. This is mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not always easy to take control of your life, or yourself. That's what it feels so good to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter!
> 
> A big THANK YOU to my Beta, [Vicky](http://after-all-this-time-severus.tumblr.com/) who did a wonderful job and helped make this story better than it was :)  
> Thanks, also, to all of you who read this fic, with special nod to those who reviewed, because reviews are the love.
> 
> I hope to see you again on other SEADLA Verse stories <3

Most of Loki's nightmares involve Odin, Thanos, or Angrboda, though more often than not, the three of them are all present. He spends the night trying to escape them, trying to keep them at bay with his vast knowledge of spells to counter mind control, but it never works, for these spells are no use against regular dreams. He keeps meaning to ask Coyote for a dreamcatcher, but can never bring himself to actually do it, and it kills him, really, this bone-deep reluctance to speak of his past even in such an indirect fashion as that.

 

He hates the idea that he is defined by the things he was made to endure. He hates the idea that, for all his life, the people in his life have been trying to rob him of himself and put what they wanted him to be in his head instead, but most of all he hates that he let them, that the only thing he ever fought for was to conform to their expectations, even the most innocent ones. He hates that it shaped him, and he hates that it shapes him still. He hates that he has become an incredible mess of contradicting feelings tangled in such twisted forms that he doesn't know where others’ influence ends and where his own soul begins.

He hates and hates and hates, and it seems sometimes that he can't let go of this hate either, that it's the only part of him that's true, tangled with love and need and loneliness, tinting the edge of his world with Jotun-Blue, the color he always associated with the feeling -the color he now knows... no. He doesn't want to think of that.

 

He can't afford to think of that.

 

Usually, he makes a good job of forgetting how different he truly is. It's safer to remain the one he always was and to conform to the norm -to the extent that a Trickster can conform to the norm. It's not quite comfortable, but it's familiar and well known, something he's been navigating for a long time now, something he knows how to handle... yet, there have been glimpses.

It seems clichéd to say it started with Stark, yet it is the truth. He wouldn't go so far as to say the mortal was a revolution, or a revelation of any sort, but in talking with him, Loki has had cause to voice things he never realized were true. It is different from speaking with Sigyn because as supportive as she always is, she never quite understands. She can never truly grasp the meaning of his words, and although it pains her as much as it pains him, there is nothing they can do to change this... which, in all honesty, is a source of relief for Loki. He would never wish for Sigyn to feel about herself as he feels about himself.

Tony Stark, on the other hand, does understand, his story disturbingly similar to Loki's despite some obvious differences.

 

Perhaps, then, that is why Loki feels almost tempted to take him into his bed.

He doesn't know how that happened, as he thought his carnal appetites were all but gone after he and Sigyn agreed  not to have sex anymore... it used to feel as if his failure to take compete pleasure from his coupling her meant he could never feel or want sexual arousal again. It lasted for so long Loki had almost forgotten his cock could serve for anything other than relieving his bladder.

And yet now that he has left Tony in the council room and reached his own bedchambers, Loki simply can't ignore the straining of his cock against the fabric of his breeches, the wet sensation of his cunt between his thighs even when there is nothing there. Loki looks down at himself, wondering how best to take care of this, until he remembers the feeling of Tony pushing upward as he came, as well as the fleeting image he had of himself riding the mortal, his cock bracketed between their two bodies until both his cock and cunt were satisfied.

 

The thought takes him, fleetingly, to the days of his youth, long before even Svadilfari happened, and Loki takes a deep breath as he divests himself of his clothes. Vest, tunic, undertunic, boots, and breeches fall to the floor, and Loki looks at himself in the full-length mirror he set up in the corner.

He has gone back to his most familiar form for this, red hair covering his head and the base of his cock in fiery halos of curls, runes framing the lines of his body, as they have always done... it's almost comforting to see himself like that again, more himself than the black haired body he uses now.

His cock is half-hard already, a few strokes away from a full erection, and when he lets his cunt open behind his balls, Loki can feel how wide he is already. Just the idea of being fully himself makes Loki take a shivering breath, and suddenly it's like he needs to see what he really looks like down there. On a whim, Loki decides to sit down on the bear-pelt at the foot of his bed and spread his legs so he can watch himself in the mirror.

 

His cunt is, quite frankly, ordinary to the point of being almost disappointing.

It's nothing Loki hasn’t seen before: lips red with the blood of arousal, moisture clinging to the scattered hair around his slit... nothing exceptional. He doesn't know what he expected, truly. Something different, something ugly, maybe monstrous... but in the end, it's just a cunt with a pair of balls in the front, and the knowledge fills Loki with a relief he never expected to feel.

He breathes out slowly, releasing all the air from his lungs in one go, and leans back on the ground, one hand stroking his cock while the other teases his nipples. His preferences haven't really changed since his youth, and the gestures are much the same as he teases his sides, his thighs, his throat with feather-light touches, enough to make his skin prickle with goose bumps.

He is fully hard now, and while he rubs his thumb over the slit of his cock, Loki uses his free hand to massage his balls for a moment before brushing against his clit and pushing his middle finger inside himself, the feeling just as good as he imagined it would be all those years ago.

 

For a fleeting moment, as he strokes himself to the edge, Loki remembers Angrboda standing over top of him and saying "Only Frost Giants have both."

It's almost enough to make him stop, to make him lose all will to pleasure himself, until he catches himself.

 

“No," he mutters.

 

 _No_. This, just now, is his. It doesn't belong to Angrboda, or Odin, or Thanos, or Laufey. It doesn't belong to anyone but himself, and Loki is determined to not let even the memory of them deprive him of his climax.

He strokes himself harder, almost aggressively, fingers scissoring his cunt until it's just shy of painful, until he comes, tired and lazy, but real.

 

It is not, by far, his most sensational orgasm. He has known much better, both as a man and a woman, but this one feels like a victory, and it makes Loki heave a deep sigh and rest his head against the fur below him, relieved laughter bubbling on his lips.

 

He can't let himself get close to Tony on the next day or it would take his mind off the plan… but if he could, he would definitely thank him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as always, comments and critiques are very welcome, either here or [on Tumblr](http://terresdebrumestories.tumblr.com/ask) :)


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